The Meaning of Loyalty
by Cindy Lucy
Summary: Ron Weasley has always been the famous side-kick- standing neatly to the side, but always in Harry's shadow. Again he's ready prove his loyalty and courage; ready to risk it all. WARNING: goary.


"So this is the famous Harry Potter side-kick, eh?" A cold voice said from the dark shadows of dank and putrid smelling cell.   
  
Ron lifted his head slowly as if it weighed a hundred pounds of lead had been slung over his knech. He moved his dry and swollen tongue across his cracked lips only to be invaded with the metallic taste of his own blood trickling from his forehead. He tugged on the shackles that were tightly clamped around his wrists and feet as he looked around the dark cell, but it seemed to be empty. Despair was thick throughout the air, almost stifling his breath, and Ron could only wonder how long he could last in such an eery place as this prison.   
  
"He doesn't look like much, does he master?" Another voice said shrilly, almost giddy to be staring at Ron pinned limply against the stone wall. Ron whipped his head around, searching for those speaking. But again, there was only darkness.   
  
"Go inform the Dark Lord we have completed his task and that we await further instructions," the first voice commanded with a high air about him.   
  
"And then master, we can play?" The impish voice asked, breathing quickly with so much anticipation that Ron could hear his teeth chatter slightly.   
  
"Yes Siph, then we will play…" he replied simply, no doubt trying to get him to leave. The servant giggled excitedly, and with one quick swoosh seemed to have left the cell completely. But Ron was not alone, he could feel it. His head was spinning, and his breath got shorter as he shifted back and forth against his confines, awaiting what he thought would come.   
  
"Come come now, you can't be scared? That's just too…delicious!" the thing hissed with all the malice the evil world could conjur. A dark figure began to slowly step towards him, and soon his hot breath was against Ron's face. It was a young man with abnormally pale skin, dark hair, and blue eyes.   
  
"Who are you?" Ron strained to say. His throat was completely dry, whether it was from the lack of water, or the utter terror, he did not know.   
  
"Some one you will soon wish you had never met, some one who is more than happy to make your life a living hell, some one you will never get away from, no matter how hard you try. I am your worst nightmare Weasley, darker and more powerful then Voldemort or Dumbledore ever could be. I am the Shadow King," the man whispered so wickedly that Ron had to restrain himself from vomitting to the side. His satanic voice swirled and echoed through Ron's mind, and right then and there he wished his own death.   
  
Mustering all the courage he could and keeping his voice as even as possible, he said, "I don't care who you are, you will never be as powerful as Dumbledore."

The Shadow King sneered at him with resentment thick in his voice. "Do not tempt me boy."   
  
"Word has been sent master," the servant called, as he more then eagerly rushed back into the cell. He was not like any creature Ron had ever seen. He seemed, for the most part to resemble a shadow, with no substance, just darkness. But from the darkness loomed ever present milk-yellow eyes, penetrating all they looked upon.   
  
"Very well," the Shadow King replied simply. "What do you say Siph, should we teach this wretched boy a lesson?"   
  
"Oh yes master! Please let me teach him!" The slithering servant begged. Suddenly Ron shivered as he felt an ice cold hand touch his arm, almost caressing it longingly. He shivered as the frigid hand slid down his arm, dragging his abnormally long fingernails along.   
  
"Do with him as you will, but remember, he is to remain alive," the Shadow King ordered. Ron's eyes widened in fear—they were going to torture him.   
  
"Thank you master," the servant breathed wickedly. "Now then," he said, turning back to Ron and looking up at him with his eerily floating eyes, "shall we use magic? Or maybe potions…? Or maybe the old fashioned tools…" The creature was obviously excited by the thought of being given such a choice, and it was clear he would be savoring every moment, making the torture longer and more painful. If Ron was lucky, he'd faint instantly and only suffer the pain when he awoke.   
  
The imp left the cell momentarily and Ron was left with his thoughts. How had he gotten here? Did anyone know he was gone? What did they want him for? Several agonizing minutes later, Siph returned to the cell, levitating a large black case. The locks sprang open at the wave of his mishapen hand, to reveal several different sized knives and sharp metallic tools. Ron gasped as his mind raced with what the evil imp was plotting. After careful deliberation, the shadow reached for a long, jagged looking knife with several toothy spikes. He turned, grinning madly at Ron and lunged forward. As the harsh metal pierced his skin, Ron howled in pure agony. 

Salty tears blinded his eyes as his side burned as if on fire. "Please stop!" He managed to say through yelps.

"Yes plead, plead! Siph likes it when they beg!" The imp said, his voice quivering with in extacy before the plunging the tool into Ron's other side. 

"What…do you want… me for?" Ron gasped, his head lolling to the side in exhaustion as the shadow seemed to have stopped momentarily to decide on another death tool. 

"Silly boy," Siph replied in a playful voice as if it were obvious all the while skimming a finger over the various metal instruments. "So Harry Potter will come and find you."

"Then why are you trying to kille me?" Ron screeched, pulling on his chains feutilly once again.

The imp laughed. "No kill you Ronald Weasley. Just play. Master rewards us by letting us play with you because we were the ones to catch you and bring you down here. But we musn't kills master says. Or Harry Potter will not come," Siph recited as if the explanation had been beaten into his head.

"You're mental!" Ron yelled, stuggling one last time against the bonds that held him tightly to the wall. 

It laughed again and shook it's shadow-like head before pulling out a long corkscrew looking tool with a piercing tip. They were going to lure Harry down here and then kill him. No doubt his mother's clock was already pointing to "lost," but if it said "dead," Harry wouldn't be allowed to look for him. Ron knew what he had to do. If Harry was killed, Lord Voldemort would reign. 

Ron held his breath as the imp inched closer with a manic smile plastered across his hazily dark face. 

"Will you please scream?" the creature whispered as he conjured a stool and climbed to the top directly infront of Ron's face and pointing the object directly next to Ron's heart.

"Not if I can help it," Ron replied before throwing all of his weight forward. Th imp did not know what was happening until Ron fell back against the wall gasping as the instrument found its way into his heart.

"No! No! Master will be very angry," Siph screeched, scrambling down from his stoll and disappearing out of the cell. 

Ron's breath was shallow and he could not hold himself up by his wrists any longer. The pain was subsiding and his eye site was getting blurry as he hung in the dark and silent prison. The air was getting old around him and even the intensity of his fiery hair seemed to be dying down. Darkness was closing in around him and Ronald Weasley was drifting off to eternal sleep. His head fell backwards, colliding roughly with the massive wall behind him. But he didn't not feel it as it head sustained another crack, for he was dead. 


End file.
